


Glue, Dust and Teamwork

by 7CuteCreationImagination7



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Girl Power, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, In which i fail to avoid projecting on innocent characters, Mental Health Issues, Natasha Romanov-centric, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Quote: I've got red in my ledger; I'd like to wipe it out., Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, my poor poor babies, neutral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 02:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7CuteCreationImagination7/pseuds/7CuteCreationImagination7
Summary: Post-Infinity War ( Spoilers galore)No one is okay. Natasha Romanov-Centric.:)





	Glue, Dust and Teamwork

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I am a bucket of feels and after infinity was, I needed to write this because....EVERYONE NEEDED MORE SCREEN TIME.
> 
> This has a few personal headcanons in here that:
> 
> 1\. Natasha is younger than she appears. In this fic, to me, she is about 26. I know this isn't canon, but I think that Natasha, as a character, isn't older or middle aged. Yeah, sorry.  
> 2\. The Rogue Avengers only assembled months before infinity war. Idk why, but I kinda think that Stev, Sam, Wanda and Natasha only became a team a few months before IW.
> 
> I hope you like it. If you have constructive criticism I am very open, and I really hope you like it.
> 
> Love and God Bless 7CCI7

Steve sat there, in the dust.

Dust that was what remained of half of his friends. T’Challa. Wanda. Sam. Vision. Bucky. Gone. 

He knew he should get up. He knew that the whole world would be affected by this. But he just numbly let Natasha help him up, and let her drag him back to the palace.

Steve lets her pull off his clothes, some attendants appearing, then disappearing. He panics a bit when she goes.

He has already lost two partners, he can’t lose another one. 

She comes back to him, and takes his shaking hands into hers. Steve Rogers is taken to his bed. 

He doesn’t get up for days. Time seems so, so insignificant. Bucky survived over one hundred years, just to be pulverised by some guy with a gauntlet. 

He misses Bucky, misses Peggy, misses everyone so much, and yet he can’t seem to get up. He wants Peggy’s wise words comforting him, Bucky’s outrageous quips and Sam’s jokes. He wants Wanda’s quiet and genteel kindness and Vision’s unique world view. 

But they are dead.

It doesn’t seem fair. 

Time blurs. Natasha comes in, sits with him, sometimes. He never speaks. He knows he should, but just eating the soups and drinks she brings him, and letting her take him to the bathroom is just too exhausting. 

Everything seems too exhausting.

His hair is down to his chin, his beard messy and tangled. He can imagine his father scolding him for it, but how he looks really doesn’t matter ,in the large scheme of things. His chest is a large mixture of scratches, bruises and cracked skin. 

But it heals, slowly, due to the salves and pills brought by Natasha and the attendants.

It hurts. But it is nothing compared to the ache in his heart. So much loss. He’s only biologically thirty-two. He knows that is not so young, but he knows that most have not had to fight for the universe for so long.

So Steve just exists. Natasha one day comes in, and for a second, in the dark of his room, he calls her Bucky. Her hair is just the right length, her athletic form, though lithe, a reminder of the Brooklyn days. He smashes a bowl against the wall when her feminine, unscarred face looks back at him sadly. He doesn’t feel anything, no guilt, no shame.

She comes in the next day, talking of the animals outside. The bowl she brings is made of metal, so it won’t shatter if thrown. He is too tired to care. He is only really awake for fifteen minutes a day, when he monitors everyone’s life signs. 

He never looks at specifics 

( Broken bones. Broken spines. Broken hearts) 

But Steve Rodgers does not let his friends die. He exists. Steve Rogers hopes thats enough, as he lies in his bed, not having left the room for three weeks, now. He begins coming out of his room, he greets people, he looks at the black cloths that have replaced the purple and gold curtains.

He never actually leaves the palace, though. It is when he hears exclamations, and sees people gathering on the tarmac outside, that he washes and walks out of the palace. 

The sunshine on his face feels right.

The burnt down forest and ash filled air, with the sobs rippling through the air does not. 

* * *

Shuri does the exact opposite as Steve.

She never leaves the lab, making a makeshift cot next to the table. She works day and night. 

The information of the Mind Stone still in the data banks, and she studies. 

Shuri puts angry, loud music, the loud clashes and guitar riffs resonate around the room, anything to fill the silence. 

She takes her braids out of her hair, and lets her natural, black afro surround her head, like a fuzzy halo , like the beautiful shining halos in religious renaissance portraits.

She doesn’t wear makeup, nor jewellery, not even her cute bracelts. Looking good seems too insignificant, when alien titans can erase the universe with just a click of their fingers. Not a single servant, friend or remaining family member dares to mention that she is Queen of Wakanda now.

She works and works.

She knows that Colonel Rhodes comes in sometimes, her assistants attending to him. 

She designs force fields which can stitch up wounds ( prevent people from disintegrating), she consults Thor as to how the Bifrost works, and starts re-designing The Globe so that not even that magic can penetrate the defences ( not Titans, monsters) She changes the Globe so that it goes down twenty kilometres, and that even the strongest of diggers can not get under the globe to go to the other side. 

Wakanda will now be safe, but she knows that there are faults. ( But she knows it is too late) 

Black Widow comes in also, and she helps Shuri.

Talks like nothing is wrong. Asks her about her experiments in a frustrating blank, calm voice, that doesn’t betray any sorrow, or grief or even sympathy.

It frustrates her. How can this woman, who has lost everything, be so calm? When Shuri, with her 340 IQ points can’t keep herself from crying on her equations? She lashes out, and for a second it feels okay.

She’s arguing with that annoying assistant. Yelling like the angry eighteen year old girl that she is. Bitterness lacing her tone as she abandons her work to scream at the infuriatingly calm and composed woman in front of her. 

“…. Just you wait, you cold-hearted white girl! My brother will—“ 

The air is suddenly too tense. She tried to pick the argument back up, tries to reclaim the anger and bitterness inside her. 

She just wobbles dangerously, a choking sob coming out of her lips instead of a cutting insult.

Shuri screams, the lab emptying instantly. She sobs and sobs and wails until she drifts off to sleep. 

She wakes up on her bed, satin bonnet on her hair, a cuddly toy of a black panther on her pillow. 

The next day, she begins designing a Black Panther suit to her own shape. Purple accents on the necklace. 

She braids her hair, puts on makeup, and prepares the burial ( there is nothing to bury) 

The Queen must rise from the dust. 

* * *

( TW For alcoholism)

Bruce is cut out of his armour.

Out of the stone he is introduced to a world of dust.

He expects to hear of an explosion.

When he sees crumpled clothes on the floor, abandoned weapons under piles of ashes, he realises that this is much, much worse.

If only. If only he hadn’t disappeared, then the Avengers might not have split. If only he had talked to Tony, or Natasha, it wouldn’t have happened. If only the Hulk had appeared, maybe he would be rejoicing after a battle, instead of working in the gardens of a foreign palace. it is soft.

It is gentle. It is delicate. It is everything he is not, but since the world has been turned upside down, it doesn’t really seem too out of place.

Also, no one is there to judge the large hip-flask of liquor. He can drink and drink and feel numb.

Due to the monster, alcohol does little more than numb his brain.

It is better than wallowing. 

He ignores the nagging feeling in his stomach that tells him that he is sick, that this amount of drinking is a warning sign.

The Hulk protects him, sometimes, knocking the flask from his grasp, yellow liquid spilling out on the wooden planks. 

Nat appears sometimes, like a ghost, standing there, observing. 

It is awkward. He once kissed her. He didn’t love her. 

Bruce doesn’t know if they are friends. He knows that now is not the time for grudges, but he also knows how tired he is. 

He gives her strawberry plants. She watches, occasionally touching some plants, asking questions. Natasha doesn’t do what others do when they see this garden.

Bruce has witnessed wailing, screaming, punching , ripping weeds out of the ground and sobbing. Everyone has been here. Something about peace and normality seems to allow people to break, it seems. 

Bruce had his moment.

He grabbed a bottle of Wakandan liquor and disappeared. Though, due to the Hulk, his brain wasn’t damaged, apparently having to have your stomach pumped due to alcohol poisoning isn’t a sign of good liver health. 

He isn’t quite sure what happened that night. Only that he found the bottle ( full to the brim), emptied it ( burning down his throat, weightless in his stomach), and then he woke up, hooked up to multiple IV’s, Shuri and Natasha looking at him pityingly. 

Alcohol is never a solution. 

His father should have taught him that. 

So he gardens. And hopes that one day, that anger, that will, that drive will come back. That one day, he will save people again. 

That one day he will stop dreaming of stones, dust, and purple men that look too much like the Hulk for comfort.

But until then, he gardens.

* * *

Rocket works with Thor

. They can both agree on one point now : They have nothing left to lose.

It is an odd sight, the blond man, writing scripts, old prophesies, myths, frantically scribbling out maps, his hair now down to his ears, his nights filled with screams — whether they are of rage, anguish or terror is unknown. 

Next to him, works a racoon. Paws grabbing pieces of metal, wood, occasionally even the blankets as he makes then into weapons. 

There are diagrams, all mathematically correct, the Wakandan physicists are all impressed and horrified, of weapons. 

Some are enough to destroy whole planets.

The ones that are confiscated can produce black holes.

Natasha comes in. She hands them pens and paper. Lets Rocket insult her, lets Thor mutter about useless humans.

Rocket is angry, and when he isn’t angry, he is sad. The shelves are littered with different bonsai trees, some with faces drawn on them, sharpie marring their brown trunks. The raccoon sometimes talks to them, telling them to shut up, and muttering about “Groot” .

Rocket makes her weapons as he insults Natasha. A whole array of weapons with the Black Widow insignia appear in her rooms, a note is aside it which details the struggles of living with “feeble, useless, defenceless humans”. 

Thor is cold, then warm. The ice in his eyes, is too similar to how her own were when she was fourteen, hardened by having so much blood on ones hands, frozen by the reality that there is little else for one to do. 

When he is cold, the most terrifying plans come about. Of convincing other celestials to join Thanos, and then destroying them all, luring them to Earth once more.

When Thor is warm, he melts. 

Hot tears pouting from his eyes, dampening the maps. Lashing out at anyone, angry that they are not his family, nor his childhood friends. Thor lets Natasha look at the maps.He tells her of a world before Thanos' plan came into place, of a golden planet, and a family with two little boys who the best of friends, a loving mother, and a father that never lied.

He sometimes, when speaking, turns to empty space, eyes closed, as talks to Loki or “mother”. 

Not a single person has the heart to correct him.

Both are working through anger and fury and loss. 

But they let themselves be helped. Thor lets Shuri make him a better eye. He also gets portraits of Loki, Frigga and Odin made, describing them is astonishingly accurate detail, the artists' notes al covering mutliple pages.

Rocket lets Steve pet him, when Steve starts coming out his room, allowing the shaking hands to stroke his soft fur as he curls up in a ball. 

They act in rage and fury, but their burning anger is a product of love and kindness. 

One day, that love will present itself in its true form. 

* * *

Tony and Nebula look at a ship. 

They don’t talk. She doesn’t comment as he scoops some ashes from where Peter used to lay, placing them in a small pouch inside the suit.

Just a boy. 

Too innocent. Too young.

It wasn’t _fair_. Nebula helps him up, back onto a ship. 

She just slows down when he cries out in pain, his earlier wound not fatal anymore, but bad enough that it could be, with the dangers of infection, disease and awful environmental conditions. 

He helps her when pieces of her body snap out of place, and screws them back in place, rubbing her back as she screams out in pain.

A golden urn holds Peter’s remains.

He tries to contact his Aunt May, using the advanced technology of the ship. A sobbing neighbour picks up the phone, blubbering about dust, and children, and everyone gone. 

Nebula drops him off where Thanos apparently was last . 

Her eyes burn with rage and anger, the wish for revenge burning through her electrical circuits. 

She wants justice .

He wants to go home. To a home where Peter, Pepper and Happy are.

Where the Avengers don’t exist, and all of them, Steve, Thor-- everyone are all just friends. 

Where he doesn’t have a massive scar on his heart, both metaphorical and literal 

It’s just him left, now. Of the raggedy team that formed in the vacuum of space, only he, the pure-blooded human, and a robot managed to survive.

Tony walks into Wakanda, and bids Nebula goodbye. He walks on the tarmac, and hopes that they don’t do psych evals here. 

Nebula found him having panic attacks three times. Flashbacks and nightmares just became more frequent. The blue woman-android ( whatever) didn’t speak. She just hummed out a mechanical tune, and whispered stories of a homeland full of blue people. With violet hair and yellow eyes, that would all sing in harmony. 

He would still, sometimes, wake up in the infirmary, oxygen mask strapped to his face, an unreadable expression on her face, as she would mutter.

“ You said you couldn’t breathe.” 

Tony tries not to think, as he walks through the plains. A computer recognises him somewhere, and lets him pass through some sort of invisible wall. 

The dust filled air of the Earth fulfils his worst nightmares.

It happened here too, it really did.

He walks on the tarmac, and sees a woman walk up to him. 

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Expressionless face. Natasha. 

There is where Tony forgets all grudges, all angers , all betrayals and just lets himself be comforted. 

He hasn’t been hugged like this in ages, only formal hugs, business hugs and soft, gentle “I care for you” hugs. 

This is an “I’m so happy your’e alive hug”, and finally, the grief and sorrow of the past month fades away. 

This is home. 

It is broken, and half of it is missing, and it will never be the same again — but it is home. 

And finally, Natasha breaks.

* * *

When James, Wanda, Sam, T’Challa — _everyone_ crumbled into dust, Natasha didn’t do what everyone else did.

Natasha didn’t fall on her knees, clutching the dust, sobs ringing out through the ash filled air. Natasha did not throw herself into work, refusing sleep like Shuri. She did not drink copious amounts of alcohol and speak only when necessary, like Bruce. She did not confine herself to her bed like Steve, or spend hours working in the gym like Rhodey. She didn’t even begin planning to kill Thanos like Thor or Rocket.

When the dust settled, and the reality made itself known, she compartmentalised. 

She had done this before, she could do it again. 

She let Shuri scream at her, and gave the young Queen sleeping pills.

She found Bruce, eyes jaundiced, haunted expression on his face as he slurred unintelligibly , and called for a medic, stroking his hair as he whimpered silently.

Natasha brought food to Steve’s room, and _did not_ feel her heart break when he mistook her for James.

Natasha went back to being Black Widow, for a while. 

She hadn’t been quite like this since before SHIELD, but it was all she had. She didn’t gasp at the papers in Thor’s room, different dialects, diagrams and maps strewn across the floor, the occasional drawing of Thanos’ death mingled in. 

She didn’t sob when Shuri called her heartless, or when Steve threw a bowl at her because she wasn’t Bucky. But when she saw Tony, it was like a dam broke.

She ran up to him, not caring that they were alone, not caring that he didn’t know how to deal with this either. 

She grabbed him, and hugged him tighter, and more emotionally than she had ever hugged anyone.

She knew that Peter and Strange were gone — the small urns in on Tony’s belt told her that.

But Tony was alive and— They were _dead_. 

Suddenly sobs ripped out from her mouth and she couldn’t feel anything apart from the pain in her chest.

It was too much. Too much to pretend to be in her thirties when she was only 26. 

Too much to see everyone die. She couldn’t breathe, but she couldn’t let Tony go, because then Tony might disappear in a cloud of dust, like James and Wanda and _Peter and everyone_

Natasha didn’t notice Okoye rubbing her back as she dry heaved onto the tarmac, nor the wide eyed expressions of her team as Shuri picked the bio-readings up, betraying the lie, little, but now so significant, of her age. 

She just felt the pain in her chest, the tightness in her lungs, and the desperate need to explode.

Until a soft prick at her neck let her spiral into darkness.

* * *

For a minute, the universe seems whole, like half of it isn’t missing .

A sick teammate. 

New technology. 

Familiar. 

Until the hallways are just too empty. Until you see the black and grey clothes that everyone wears. 

Until you see the puffy red eyes, the purple eye bags, and you see that everyone has lost weight. 

As the stretcher floats, held up by Steve and Tony ( _the irony_ , the complete and utter _irony_ of this) 

Not a single person dares to ask what happened to Tony, everyone looking at Natasha’s rather young face, falsified signs of aging showing as they stare at her too-pale face, everyone ignoring the two numbers on the bio-scanner revealing that _Natasha is not thirty three_.

The woman isn’t a child, no, but she has just turned about twenty six, accrding to the scanner, and only Shuri is left to contest the right of being the youngest person, now. 

They lay her on the bed, red roots contrasting with the curly blonde hair, fanning around her face, like a halo. 

They take off her clothes, the black dress, the navy cardigan come off. 

The men all look away, they hold their spider with respect.

Shuri calmly works, using vibranium salve to heal the bruises, fusing the broken ribs together. 

She can fix broken ligaments, broken bones and bodies. 

She can’t fix broken people. 

They all talk in low voices. Tony’s voice cracking as he tells of what happened, of walking onto a planet with six people and leaving with one. 

Steve speaking in the same voice as a lost boy in a Costco, of Bucky, Sam and T’Challa fading into dust. 

Rhodey quietly states Wanda’s and Vision’s death.

The raccoon snarls, and shrieks when he tells him that Mantis, Drax, Quill and Gamora all are gone. 

Thor picks him up, and looks sadly at Tony. 

They are all broken. 

But this is everyone that is left. There is no time for what-ifs , no blame. 

Tony lets the doctors fix up the damage in his stomach. Steve allows a woman to give him a phone number and a bottle of pills. Thor and Rocket let their anger go, and Shuri and Rhodey stop working. They wait for the sedative to come off.

They need to know. Because, despite how young Natasha is, how none of them ever got to be close to her, she is the one that _knows_. 

She is the only one that has had her world crumble into ashes before.

They don't know much, but echoes of a burning house, a burning hospital, a burning training centre, an imploding SHIELD and a scattered team tell them enough. 

They need someone who had brushed the dust off her shoulders and risen from the ashes before.

* * *

Natasha wakes up, her eyes glassy, a single tear rolling down the side of her cheek. 

Somehow, this is worse than the heart renching sobs that everyone hears on a daily basis, whether muffled through walls, or emitting through their own chest. 

Thor begins to stroke her hair, silently, not really reacting. 

He knows his mother would do this to Loki when he was sick. 

Loki. 

His mother. 

Thor doesn’t pay heed to anything, except to stroking Natasha’s soft blonde hair, and occasionally swiping tears from it. 

No one says anything. 

Steve just seems to tired to deal with it, but he knows that Natasha has answers. Natasha had to have answers. 

Tony knew that, if, in another universe, he, Bruce, Shuri and Natasha had worked together, their intellects would have prevented this. But other universes aren’t what matters now. What matters is trying to fix how broken this team is. 

And to fix that, they need to fix the glue.

The glue that kept Clint there when he wanted to run after Loki, the glue that abated Steve’s and Tony’s fights, the glue that acted as a mediator between everyone and the Council. So silence just reigns as Natasha remains silently crying.

Shuri and Okoye walk out, and a decision is made. 

Shuri is eighteen, and has been relatively sheltered, despite an intellect that had caused the Mensa ambassador to choke. Shuri could design anything, weaponry, medicines, suits, diagnostic machines, probability calculators and even synthetic vibranium. But she had never seen war, or death, not really until this year. Any remaining family members were dead, or grieving too strongly to rule.

Okoye had been a good army general for three kings, despite her thoughts on their leadership. She was good at leading, her warfare and tactics were outstanding, but she cared not for diplomacy. She knew of politics and international relations, but it bored her, dull, fake people telling fake things. She was the best army general in the world, but she was not made to rule 

The Black Widow was an outsider. She knew not of the familial ties, friendships or even the relationships of daily life. She knew little of Wakanda, and even less of her traditions. But, this woman was made of vibranium. She knew all the details and intricacies of politics, warfare, technology and weaponry. She had contacts worldwide and needed to have control. Her ability to keep her age secret for almost a decade tested to her discretion. 

So later that night, a plan was formed. 

Three women would rule in a triumvirate, Shuri would be in charge of the Medical and Scientific Advancements, Okoye would take charge of all Internal disputes, Warfare and Security, and of course, all of the armed forces, and Natasha, if she said yes, would be in charge of international trade, relations, and espionage. 

But for now, they wait. 

* * *

Thor and Tony stay by Natasha’s side, one stroking her hair, the other trying to make her smile.

To Thor, Natasha is Loki and Frigga in one.

Loki’s youth, wit, his cleverness with emotions and words, his ability to mask and manipulate, his angst and despair at his life, combined with his mother’s grace, power and wisdom, her desperate attempts to get the men around her to work in unity, only to be destroyed when that union collapsed. 

To Natasha, Thor is family. 

Thor knows what it is like to be forced into a position that no one wants. Thor knows what it is like to have a family, that one minute shows sacrificial undying love, which can turn into murderous rage. Thor is James and Clint and Katya wrapped up in one. Clint’s superficial optimism and cheerfulness ( she doesn't know where he is, no one does), James’ struggle to do what is right when his “throne” and position were taken from him and swapped with the filth of the Soviet and Nazi plans. Katya’s goodness, and desperate wish for family, even when it was her downfall when she sacrificed herself for Natalia. 

Natasha knows that questions will come in the morning. She knows that, at one point, the sedatives, both for her brain and body will stop dripping in through the IV and she will have to face the reality.

But for now, she rests. 

Rocket is, oddly, the first to speak to Natalia, after the incident. He sits at the foot of her bed, fiddling with a Rubik’s Cube when hazel, animalistic eyes look up and her and he speaks 

“ Lady, d’ya wan’a explain what’s goin’ on? 

She speaks, her voice still hoarse from the screaming/sobbing/vomiting session of the last day. 

She looks at him fondly, and sadly, like she reminds him of someone.

He doesn’t know what to think about that. 

“ Did Thor explain to you what the Avengers Initiative was?” 

The raccoons frown and rather disgruntled huff answered her question.

“ Ten years ago, a plan was formed. I had been in Shield for about two years, officially, so I was the first to be allowed in. The plan was that, the Earth needed protection, so especially powered, gifted or otherwise individuals were recruited. Six years ago, it came to pass when Thor’s brother tried to take over Earth, and we stopped him. But because Shield collapsed because of how corrupt it was, we were left alone. So we scattered, and then an idiot decided to split us apart completely. Since everyone else is gone, we are Earth’s only protection and guidance now.” 

Natasha leant back, Rocket leaping to her side of the bed, and then he decided to ask the question no one had ever bothered to ask.

“ So why are _you_ here? Why did _you_ survive? Why’s everyone acting mad?“ 

Natasha flashed a smile, a ghost of what it normally would have been, but Rocket liked it. It reminded him of Gamora.

“ That’s my superpower. _I survive_ , when no one else does. And everyone is mad that they got my age wrong, I may have told a few white lies. I’m twenty six, not thirty-three.” 

Rocket shrugs, but is  confused, as to why her age would make people mad.

" In this world, twenty six is about a quater of my life span. I said that I had lived a full third. I'm quite young to them."

Rocket shrugs and skitters towards her. 

Someone has given him patient answers, and hasn’t asked him as to why he can talk. He is content, not happy, but okay.

Rocket curls up by her side, warming her abdomen as the assistant sends her back to sleep, so that the broken ribs can be healed.

Rocket can imagine, just like he did when he was in that cold, frozen lab, those monsters electrocuting him, passively tapping on their pads as he screamed, writhing in pain—-,

that Groot is here, Peter’s music is playing, Gamora is filing her knives and Drax and Mantis are chatting.

He misses them, he thinks as he burrows his head into the blankets. 

* * *

Tony just lies in the room that the Ki— the Queen gave to him. 

It is beautiful, and modern, and he is so so tired.

For two years he only had Vision and Rhodey for company, one sneaking off every month to meet Wanda, the other dealing with his loss of mobility. For two years he has had nightmares of shields smashing into his heart, a metal arm wrapped around his mother’s neck and of people being shot from the sky. 

Now, everyone he loves crumbling into dust is just a new horror for his brain to torture him with.

He doesn’t know what is worse, Steve’s refusal to talk to him, Thor’s anger, Bruce’s despair. 

That is a lie. There are two things that will haunt him for the rest of his days, even if a time travelling-infinity-gauntlet-destroying-Thanos-killing machine is invented.

Two spiders which will follow him. 

1\. Peter. _His son_. The boy with the brown hair, brown eyes and a heart of gold. The kid that would sometimes call him “Dad” if he was tired, sick or injured. The boy that crumbled under his arms, who’s last act was to hug him, and then apologise for dying. The child that, because of a stupid spider bite, was dragged into the messy world of superheroes. The boy that, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t be saved. 

2\. Natasha. She lied to him, deceived him, betrayed him, yes. But she had been the key, the glue to the Avengers. She had been the one to settle Steve into the 21st century, the one to convince Clint to join, the one that got Wanda to turn her anger to strength and the one to get Bruce to believe in himself. She was the one to convince Fury to let him in, the one to save him when no on at SHIELD wanted to. But because, when glue dries, it is invisible, unnoticeable , everyone forgot about her. She was too young, much too young to deal with this. Twenty six is not the age to have saved the world millions of times. 

Wanda is dead. Peter is too. The least Tony can do is ensure that no more children masquerading as adults die.

He swears to protect Shuri and Natasha with his life.

* * *

The team rebuilds itself, in fragments. 

Natasha, Thor and Rocket become the first to form any sort of team. 

Thor disappears with them both, travelling to distant planets, and taking medical supplies.

Rocket serves as the guard to them, and helps them know how different cultures work.

Thor has an authority that every one respects, the last of his kind to survive, a god, and a king. 

Natasha is the wild card. It begins with her tagging along, purely out of boredom and curiosity ( wanting to escape the dust covered fields).

She becomes their diplomat. Thor gives her a temporary ability to do allspeak , and though her hair stands up on its ends for days, and she can’t touch electrical appliances not made by Shuri for weeks, it is worth it.

Tony, Shuri and Bruce all become best friends, once Shuri realises how much the older men look up to her. Together, reading radiation, electricity and bi-frost signals that they know of, they work together to make Wakanda’s barrier nuclear bomb,celestial, and dig proof.

It is too-little, and way too late to fix things, but there is a satisfaction in knowing that the mess will never happen again. 

Officially, Shuri is Queen of Wakanda. 

Unofficially, her main advisers aren’t the older group of grieving leaders, but Natasha, Okoye and Thor. 

Okoye controls the armies, Thor helps with advice on ruling, leadership and being human whilst formidable , and Natasha serves to shut down any accusations, questions or other unreasonable comments from the rest of the world. 

Steve is the last to join in to the team effort. 

Everyone understands, this man had fought so hard to keep peace, to retire, and he only managed to get the chance to do so after the world practically ended. Rocket provokes him on a daily basis, sitting on his bed and asking obnoxious questions. Steve doesn’t really answer, but, eventually he begins rolling his eyes and giving yes or no answers. One day. Steve gets up and just walks to his bathroom, sticking his tongue out at the affronted Rocket.

After this, Rocket tells Thor who practically drags him out to spar, nearly killing Steve so he is forced to fight back. Steve’s muscles ache with disuse but he enjoys it, and agrees to participate in the spars in the future. 

After that, Steve finds himself being bombarded with requests from everyone. Advice for Shuri on leadership, helping Thor and Rocket work out where the Tessaract was by giving them information about it, Tony and Bruce asking about what weapons he wants.

Six months later, the team forms completely. 

They're broken, every single one of them. 

Okoye lost her husband, Shuri lost her brother, and— it was a long list of losses, and that pain wouldn’t go away. 

But they were strong.

Everyone was covered in lean muscle from having trained so extensively, the most advanced technology on their person.

Of course, everyone was themselves. 

Natasha had connections universe-wide, making alliances on every country and on every planet, and she had talents in manipulation, agility and marksmanship that went unrivalled. 

Tony still had his billionaire status, Pepper was hiding with relatives and didn’t want to go to Wakanda, so she was protected, and Tony had years of pleasing the press up his sleeve. 

Thor— well, Thor was Thor, his hammer, his lightning bolts, and his amazing charisma working wonderfully.

Rocket and Shuri made a formidable team when working together in the lab, making weapons that make the visiting science professors gape in awe and shock.

Steve was quiet and serious, but he and Okoye made wonderful army tacticians, inventing new battle tactics together. 

They weren’t complete. 

There were people-shaped holes in their hearts. 

But they would continue fighting until the end.

**Author's Note:**

> How Far We've Come by Matchbox 20 is The Song for Infinity War, for me anyways.
> 
> I love you, thanks for reading this fic :)


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